Page 3 of Redeeming the Outlaw
“I’m not interested in being one of his pawns…”
The sounds of shouting and screaming interrupted the revelry inside. The swinging doors flew open, slapping against the wall. Marshal Briggs walked into the saloon and strode over to Keys, the piano player. Tapping Keys on the shoulder, the man stopped playing for a moment. Briggs leaned down and whispered to him. Suddenly, the man got up from the piano and ran from the saloon.
“What in tarnation?” Tom looked at Whit, who simply shrugged.
“I need your attention, please.” The noise of the saloon was overwhelming, and Briggs had to shout to make himself heard. No one seemed to care or pay attention. The situation quickly escalated as people began throwing cards and glasses at the marshal. Whit, who had been observing from a distance, finally intervened by putting his fingers to his lips and letting out a piercing whistle. The sudden silence was deafening compared to the chaos just moments before.
Briggs stood on a stool and looked around at everyone. “George Curtis is dead. It looks like he had the fever.”
“Fever?” Red yelled over the crowd. “What kind of fever?”
“Scarlatina. There are several cowboys on ranches outside of town who have contracted it. We are asking everyone to stay in town, and we aren’t letting anyone new come into town.”
“How are you going to make sure it actually happens?” one patron asked.
“Yeeeeeaaaaah. How, Marshal?” another slurred.
“I’m looking for some volunteers to stand guard on the roads coming in and out of town.”
Murmurs went through the crowd, and people got up to leave.
“I’ll help.” Whit stood from the corner and picked up his hatfrom the table, putting it on his head. Snickers went around the room.
Tom grabbed Whit’s arm and narrowed his eyes. “You are going to lose any chance you had with Brodie, boy.”
Whit shrugged his arm from Tom’s grip. “I ain’t your boy,” he hissed. Leaning down, he looked into Tom’s soulless eyes. “You need someone inside to know what Briggs knows. There isn’t a better way to do it than to be working alongside him.”
Tom grinned and slapped Whit on the back. “Hope you die of the fever, boy.”
Whit glared at Tom before striding over to the marshal. “I said I’d help.”
Briggs looked at Whit and then Tom, before glancing back at Whit. “I don’t like the company you’re keeping.”
Whit glanced over his shoulder. “A man can choose to drink with whomever he wants.”
“A man, eh? Well, you won’t be drinking while you are working with me. You understand?”
“Old man, I’m only doing this so I can get enough money and get out of this hick town.” A few snickers could be heard from the bar patrons.
Briggs looked around the saloon. “Anyone else?” Everyone turned and looked away or stared at their drinks. Looking back at Whit, he narrowed his eyes. “Looks like I have little choice. I’ll be watching you. Every single step you take, I’ll be watching. You hear me?”
Crossing his hands over his chest, Whit grinned. “I think everyone in town hears you, old man.”
Sighing, Briggs ran his hand down his face. “Let’s go. No one is going to get any sleep for a while.”
“Right behind you,” Whit said, glancing at Tom, who wasgrinning from ear to ear at the unexpected events. When they got outside into the muggy air, Briggs took off down the road. Whit jogged to keep up with the marshal’s long strides. “What’s going on?”
“I wasn’t kidding about the fever. Sawyer Mills fell from his horse at the Chapman Ranch.”
“Which one is he?”
“If you spent more time at home, you’d know.” Briggs stopped and turned to look at Whit. “He’s at your house right now. Everyone has moved out, so you can’t go home.”
“What? Where’s Ma?”
“Annamae is taking care of him. Your ma is at the Chapman’s. I would guess your brothers are sleeping in the bunkhouse, but I don’t know since I’m not there.”
Whit stopped in the middle of the road, panic seizing his chest. “I need to go home right now.”
